


Semper Fi, Ski

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Young Skinner in the Marines. Where have all the young men gone?





	Semper Fi, Ski

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Semper Fi, Ski by Halrloprillalar

DISTRIBUTION: OK for Archive/X. Elsewhere by permission. Email forwarding is OK.  
SPOILERS: None.  
RATING: PG13 for M/M stuff.  
SUMMARY: Skinner/Other. Young Skinner in the Marines. Where have all the young men gone?  
NOTE: My contribution to the Skinner in Blue Dress & White Gloves stories, as discussed on [surly-one]. I hope I wasn't too inaccurate with this short piece.  
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox own the X-Files, not me.  
MORE FIC: http://come.to/prillalar  
March 1999

* * *

Semper Fi, Ski  
by Halrloprillalar  
<>

Skinner rubbed a patch of mirror clean, trying to finish the last few strokes of his shave before it steamed up again. Behind him, the shower beat a steady drone under the loud and mostly tuneful voice of its occupant. "Every place I go, I'll think of you, every song I sing, I sing for you. When I come back, I'll wear your wedding ring."

"Sorry, Ski," Skinner called. "I promised Bridges I'd wait for him." The mirror was already fogged again and the glass squeaked under his fingers. When the mist cleared, the glass reflected Skidmore's head poking out through the curtain.

"You fucker, Ski. Here I thought we were going to announce our engagement."

"Only if your sister is uglier than you." One last swipe along the jaw and Skinner's face was velvet smooth. He looked in his kit for aftershave but couldn't find any. Skidmore's would do. It stung a little as he slapped it on.

"No way a prick like you is getting near my sister, Ski." Skidmore ducked back into the shower. "I'm leavin' on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again, oh babe, I hate to go."

Skinner left the bathroom. The mirror in the small hotel room was a little steamy too and he wrote "Skidmore is an ugly bastard" on it with his finger. Tapping a Lucky out of a crumpled pack, he stretched out on the bed, watching the smoke curl languidly through the humid air.

Three days of leave before they shipped out and the precious hours were already slipping away. Would be eaten away by their ravenous families. Parents and siblings and blue dress. Skinner blew another lazy coil of smoke and grinned to think how proud they'd be.

Skidmore came in, a towel wrapped around his lean hips and his dog tags dangling over his bare chest. Crossing to the bed, he took the cigarette from Skinner's fingers. "Move your fat ass, Ski. Eleven o'clock firing squad."

"Fuck you." Skinner rolled off the bed, out of the cloud of smoke Skidmore aimed at him. Pulling out his socks, he started to dress.

Skidmore rummaged in his duffel for his boxers. "Ski, you're the ugly bastard around here, not me."

"And whose fault is that, you candyass little punk?" Turning to the closet, Skinner jumped when a towel snapped against his ass. "Fucker." He whipped around. "Come on, Ski, I'll break your nose for you. You don't want to be a pretty boy all your life."

"I'll kick your ass." Skidmore came over and pulled his shirt off the hanger. "A mouth breather like you won't even notice his nose is broken again."

"Semper fi, Mac." The memory of the fight still rankled. Skidmore had indeed kicked his ass and broken his nose and skewered his pride. And covered for both of them later. They'd been pals since, working together, shooting the shit when there was five minutes to spare, taking liberty together. Skinner remembered the two day pass of boozing, smoking, a little whoring. Of not quite getting into fights, of not quite picking up any girls. Of playing pinball and reading comic books over hamburgers and hangovers.

"Would you stop that fucking noise, Ski?"

Skinner paused halfway into his trousers, surprised. Noise? Belatedly, he realised he'd been whistling. Leaving on a Jet Plane. "I had to listen to you sing, you tone deaf jarhead." But he stopped. "How long do you figure until we can ditch this family thing and have some real liberty?"

"Six hours?" Skidmore pulled on his blue wool jacket, buttoning it carefully. "Bridges told me where we could find some nice girls. And some not-so-nice ones."

Three days. Then out. Don't know when I'll be back again. As he worked the tight white gloves over his hands, Skinner watched them both in the mirror, now clear and dry. For all their banter about who was uglier, they really did look a lot alike. Two young men, tall and lean, with a promise of broadness in a few years. With their cropped hair, in their blue trousers and jackets, trimmed in red and gold, white belts, shining black boots -- in uniform, only the contrast between Skidmore's sharper features and Skinner's flatter ones distinguished them. Skinner picked up his cap and carefully set it just so. "Ski, are you excited about seeing action?" Are you afraid?

Skidmore turned to him, adjusting his own cap with gloved hands. "Yes." Skinner knew the answer was to both questions. That was why they'd go out and carouse and fuck and fight before they left. To be alive. "Ready, Ski?" Skidmore asked.

"Wait, your collar is turned under in the back." Skinner reached around to straighten it, smoothing the wool across Skidmore's shoulders. A whiff of aftershave hung in the air and he wondered if it was his or Skidmore's. Probably both. The scent was faintly citrus, and their uniforms were neatly pressed and in three days they were going off to Vietnam to shoot people dead. To be shot. Skinner moved to cuff him gently and found his hand on Skidmore's cheek, his face leaning in and in and he was kissing the other man. Kissing him.

Disjointed spots of sensation came to Skinner. Heat of Skidmore's face through the glove pressed to his cheek. Hardness of the mouth that opened a little to him. Deep affection for his friend. Faint taste of cigarettes. Bunching of muscle in Skidmore's shoulder. Absolute silence. A hand that found his back, held, began to slide down. The lingering tang of the aftershave.

Twenty seconds at most and then they sprang apart. Skinner knew he was about to get his nose broken again, knew he deserved it, only hoped he could get his jacket off before the blood ran all over it. He stood in front of Skidmore, gut twisting, and waited for the blow.

It didn't come. Instead, Skidmore fixed him with an unreadable stare, then looked around the room. Editing, Skinner realised. Another twenty seconds of uncomfortable silence and then it hadn't happened. Nothing happened.

"Come on, Ski, we'll be late." Skidmore reached out and picked a piece of lint off Skinner's jacket. "My mother is dying to meet you."

"Is she better looking than your sister?" Skinner grinned.

"She's better looking than you, fucker."

"You got the room key, Ski?" Skinner checked his uniform in the mirror one more time. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go out."

Yeah, they'd go out. They'd drink and smoke and maybe get tattooed. They'd swagger and swear and try to pass for twenty-five. They'd dance with nice girls and then they'd take what money they had left and find a not-so-nice girl. Just one, to share.

"Semper fi, Ski." Skidmore held up the keys and opened the door.

"Semper fi."

F I N I S

Long time ago. Did you like? Tell me. 


End file.
